Saturday, July 2, 2011

I like to think of myself as the disaffected, slacker genius type. If they made a movie about my life, at least in like 1999, I'd be played by Ethan Hawke. I've got the brains, I've got some looks that might be better suited to 18th century France but get the job done, and I'm not terribly out of shape. I'm feeling pretty good about myself.

I have to come to grips with the fact that I am, evolutionarily, not a great leap forward. I'm not a tall, hulking powerhouse. I'm not even that speedy, as far as humans measure it. My greatest advantage to natural selection would be to outwit my opponent and hopefully dodge its attack before tricking off a cliff or something. I'm not going to be punching out a mountain lion any time soon, and that makes me a little sad.

Because I totally know guys who could punch out a mountain lion if they had to. They'd be scared, and confused, but they'd fucking do it.

I would die. A lot. Quickly.
Biting my tongue is just proof to me that as hard as I might try to be cool and suave and powerful and sexy, and as convincing as I my be in every single one of those endeavors, I'm still capable of chewing through my own tongue and drawing blood while eating a fucking sandwich.
It's depressing to realize that, quite rightly, if natural selection had any involvement left in human society, I'd breed rarely if ever, late in life, and produce slow, easily picked-off offspring.

Then I watch Jackass: The Movie on basic cable and I remember that even the people who could punch out mountain lions are squishy and easily injured, and that generally I will be smart enough to not get a Hot Wheels car stuck up my ass.